


Unutterable Things

by Polaris



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (after a fashion), Aziraphale and Crowley Have Their Picnic (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Fluff and Smut, Good Omens: Lockdown, Idiots in Love, Kitchen Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris/pseuds/Polaris
Summary: Aziraphale had tried to be good, he really had. He’d rebuffed Crowley’s offers to slither over with a case of something drinkable, until Crowley’s threat of sleeping away the rest of the year had been simply unbearable and he’d cracked.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 527
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	Unutterable Things

Crowley was already awake when Aziraphale knocked on the door to his flat, though his hair was mussed from sleep and he was still wearing his pyjamas. Aziraphale thought the black silk was very fetching, and didn’t complain. It was a rare treat for Crowley to answer the door less than perfectly composed, and it meant—how the thought thrilled Aziraphale—that he felt safe to do so.

They were going on a picnic.

A year to the day had passed since they’d averted the apocalypse, and though that year certainly hadn’t gone as they’d hoped on a global scale (people being, by nature, people, and therefore eternally causing one another problems), on a more personal level it had been simply lovely. Dining at the Ritz had turned into drinking in the bookshop, which had then become slow, tentative kisses on Aziraphale’s sofa. And, well. Once they’d opened that particular floodgate there had been no stopping it. They were in love, in all the ways an angel and a demon could be. And they’d won. 

In the past year, they’d tried seventy-two new restaurants in London, gone to sixteen symphony performances, and had innumerable amounts of sex in no less than five different forms. Aziraphale had never been happier. 

And then the pandemic had hit, and things had come to a screaming halt. No more symphonies; no more restaurants, and worst of all, no more Crowley. Not if they were supposed to be staying home. Aziraphale had tried to be good, he really had. He’d taken up baking after the desire for cake had grown too strong to bear. He’d watched his supply of wine dwindle, fighting despair with nightly phone calls to Crowley, desperate to hear his voice. He’d rebuffed Crowley’s offers to slither over with a case of something drinkable, until Crowley’s threat of sleeping away the rest of the year had been simply unbearable and he’d cracked. 

Aziraphale’s one rule was that they had to pop in and out without being seen. It wouldn’t do to set a bad example for the humans.

He pressed an affectionate kiss to Crowley’s cheek as he brushed past him in the doorway, smiling at the hazy grunt he received in response, and bustled into the overwrought kitchen with his wicker basket. It should have looked silly as he set it on the counter to unpack, quaint and old-fashioned in this gleaming steel and concrete flat, but he had found, to his delight, that it simply lent the place a touch of warmth. 

“Would you like a coffee, my dear?” he called without looking up; he knew Crowley would be somewhere close.

Another grunt, which sounded vaguely affirmative, was his answer. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and bit back a smile. Useless old serpent; Crowley was good for absolutely nothing first thing in the morning. Really, Aziraphale was flattered he was even vertical. 

He miracled up a coffee, steaming and frothy with foam. If they’d gone out, Crowley would have ordered an espresso, which he claimed was cool and effortless. Aziraphale knew his demon better than that, and therefore Crowley was getting a cinnamon hazelnut caramel cappuccino. He set it aside and continued unpacking, content to let smell do the rest of the work.

Sure enough, Crowley appeared in the doorway moments later, looking a bit confused but nevertheless creeping toward the coffee on the counter like a particularly handsome shadow. Aziraphale reached out without looking and moved the saucer a bit to help him along. 

Crowley seized on the movement and reached swiftly for the coffee, cradling the cup in his hands for a few moments before raising it to his face. A pleased hum followed, making Aziraphale smile with the satisfaction of a job well done.

“Were you able to get everything?” he asked as he laid out the contents of the basket and gave them a critical once-over. 

Crowley grunted again. 

“Excellent.” Aziraphale beamed at him. It was difficult to assemble sandwiches without filling, after all. He stepped around Crowley, who was swaying gently in the middle of the room with his coffee, and went about gathering the ingredients in the kitchen. They’d agreed that Crowley was in charge of acquiring meats and cheeses. He’d argued that he was supporting local businesses when Aziraphale had fretted about him going out. Meanwhile Aziraphale, proud of his newfound baking prowess, had provided bread and cake.

His sourdough was quickly approaching an art form, he rather thought.

He got a knife from the rack, pausing in spite of himself to admire the craftsmanship of the blade before he turned back to the counter and advanced on the bread. Soon it lay in thick, uniform slices, perfect for layering with delicious things. Aziraphale nodded, pleased with himself, and reached for the mustard.

Crowley hadn’t moved from his spot in the middle of the kitchen, although he had stopped swaying. 

“Top up?” Aziraphale asked him, and snapped his fingers to refill the cup when Crowley nodded.

“Thankssss,” Crowley hissed muzzily, and closed his eyes.

Aziraphale assembled sandwiches, lovingly slathering mustard and butter on the bread before dithering over a cheese. Crowley had selected two of Aziraphale’s favorites, after all, and after some consideration, Aziraphale made two with one sort and two with the other. That ensured he wouldn’t feel he’d missed anything.

He wrapped them tightly in brown paper that he’d brought just for the occasion and set them in the basket. “Crowley, what do you think about wine? Red or white?”

Crowley raised his head and blinked once, very slowly.

“The wine, my dear,” said Aziraphale patiently.

“Oh.” Crowley stared vaguely at a point somewhere over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “With ham?” he asked after a pause.

“Yes.”

Crowley swayed gently on his feet. It was possible he was thinking deeply, but he could also be falling asleep standing up, so Aziraphale cleared his throat gently and sighed when Crowley jumped.

“Ham,” said Crowley briskly. “Right. What do you think about a rosé, angel?”

Aziraphale considered. “I suppose we could do,” he said. “Yes, you know, I think that would be very nice. Especially with the strawberry shortcake I’ve made.”

Crowley appeared to be coming alive, finally. “Still can’t believe you make your own cakes,” he muttered fondly. “Don’t recall you ever taking up hobbies during other plagues.”

“Yes, well, we were both on call then,” Aziraphale pointed out. “I have time now.”

“Between blessing every vehicle and pedestrian that passes your bookshop,” said Crowley fondly.

Aziraphale smiled. Some things were inherent to his angelic nature, after all. Besides, he suspected that Crowley had done his own share of blessing and healing where no one could see.

“Are you sure we can’t drive, angel?” Crowley set his cup down and lounged against the cabinets. “Roads are bound to be clear with everyone locked down. No traffic.”

Aziraphale gave him a sly look. He knew perfectly well that Crowley loved his car, but the truth was that it was far too flashy for their clandestine picnic. “The point is to make sure the humans can’t see us,” he said gently. “Your car is delightful, but I really think it’s best if we simply pop over. Besides, we’ll have more time outside if we skip the drive.”

Crowley huffed. “If that car gets lonely, I’m blaming you.”

As though Aziraphale didn’t know Crowley drove it around the city when they weren’t together. “Of course, my dear.”

Crowley made a disgruntled noise, crossing his arms. It made the silk pyjamas stretch beguilingly across his shoulders. “Well, if you’re nearly finished assembling the whole lot, we ought to get going,” he muttered, raising his hand.

“Don’t get dressed just yet,” said Aziraphale softly.

Crowley stopped. “Oh?”

Aziraphale glanced away, biting his lip. It was difficult, no matter how full he was of love, to break the rules of six thousand years with no hesitation. They had their way of doing things, he and Crowley; Aziraphale created an opening, and Crowley worked at it until he’d talked Aziraphale around to doing what they both wanted to do anyway. 

And there was the slow, spreading grin across Crowley’s lovely face. “Aziraphale,” he said in what he clearly meant to be a shocked tone, “are you having lustful thoughts again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said as primly as he could, even as he felt his face grow warm. 

“You are,” Crowley crowed, looking delighted. He stretched, arching his back so that his pyjama shirt rode up to show a tantalizing sliver of pale belly.

Aziraphale averted his eyes demurely—for a moment. “Crowley, this is hardly the time.”

“Hardly the time? I was about to get dressed,” Crowley pointed out innocently.

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale busied himself with tidying up the human way. “I’m sure I didn’t mean what you’re so crudely implying.”

“What, that you want to unwrap me like a Christmas present and fuck on the table?” Crowley was gloating, it was unseemly.

“Don’t be crass,” Aziraphale said, although the words sent heat stabbing through him.

“You like it when I’m crass,” said Crowley carelessly. “It turns you on.”

“Now, really,” protested Aziraphale, shooting Crowley a glance that wasn’t nearly as aggrieved as it ought to have been.

Crowley grinned. “Standing there in your prim little waistcoat and fussy bow tie as though you aren’t shameless and filthy. I haven’t forgotten that thing you did in the gents’ at Le Caprice.”

“Crowley!” Now that was just cheating. He knew Aziraphale still squirmed at that memory. 

“And you’re squirming again,” said Crowley, because he was, after all, a wily old serpent. “Remembering the way you looked in all those lovely art deco mirrors?”

Damn him. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Crowley,” he said, pulling himself together, “I merely want you to be comfortable, and I hardly think that—”

“Comfortable?” Crowley grinned. “You’re a liar as well as a pervert, angel. Come here and kiss me if you want to make me comfortable.”

“That’s just uncalled for,” Aziraphale sniffed.

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Crowley with an exaggerated bow. “I’d hate to be improper, you know.”

“You’re impossible.” Aziraphale turned back to the counter, mostly so Crowley wouldn’t see him smiling. It never paid to let him see that Aziraphale found him charming when he was incorrigible.

“I’m not.” Crowley crowded behind him, using his height to trap Aziraphale against the counter. He nuzzled Aziraphale’s hair for a moment. “I’m very, very possible.”

Aziraphale bit back a grin. “How dare you try to tempt me before lunch?” But he pushed back, just a bit, so his arse pressed against Crowley’s hips.

Crowley hissed. “Slut,” he whispered against Aziraphale’s ear, a wash of hot breath that made Aziraphale shiver. “You play so bloody coy like you aren’t _begging_ for it.”

Aziraphale gripped the counter. “Crowley, you mustn’t,” he breathed, knowing he sounded like the heroine of a tawdry novel. That was part of the fun. “You can’t ravish me in the kitchen. It’s uncivilized!”

“So am I.” Crowley nipped his ear and ground his hips against Aziraphale’s arse. “Feel that? I’m wild for you, angel.”

Aziraphale made a rather pitiful noise, squirming at the feel of Crowley’s rather obvious erection. “Difficult to miss it, dearest.”

Crowley snorted. “I ought to push your horrible trousers down and fuck you next to that neat little picnic basket.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. The truth was that it definitely occurred to him to engage in a bit of heavy petting during their picnic. He’d rather thought they would eat first, but that was before Crowley had looked so very attractive in his silk pyjamas. “Crowley, that would be positively barbaric.”

“I liked being a Celt,” Crowley mused. “You remember, angel? Blue paint and those fine tartan kilts. Nothing underneath,” he added slyly.

“Oh, don’t tease me with that now!” Aziraphale twisted around to give Crowley a stern look. 

Crowley laughed and kissed him then, and Aziraphale let his eyes fall closed to better enjoy it. “No,” he agreed as long-fingered hands slid around Aziraphale’s waist, “I’ve got better ways to tease you just now, haven’t I?”

“Not even lunch time,” Aziraphale breathed against his lips. “You’d take me in the kitchen in broad daylight like an animal.”

“Yeah.” Crowley kissed him again, working at the buttons of Aziraphale’s trousers. 

Aziraphale shuddered when Crowley got his fly open, especially because the horrid demon didn’t even reach in right away. Crowley just petted him through the fabric, teasing until Aziraphale’s cock was hard and leaking. “Oh, you’re evil,” he whimpered, gripping the counter as Crowley sucked on his earlobe.

“Thanks.” Crowley grinned before nipping at his jaw, making Aziraphale gasp. 

“Crowley!” He pushed his arse back again, wiggling a bit under the pretense of trying to get away.

Crowley laughed at him and pinned him tighter; Aziraphale had to take care not to thrash hard enough to actually break free. “You wanton little tart.”

“I am no such thing!” Aziraphale protested breathily.

“Yes you are.” Crowley shoved his trousers down, more roughly than Aziraphale expected; it made him gasp. “Look at how hard you are, just at the thought of me—how did you put it? Taking you like an animal.”

Aziraphale whined. “Crowley...”

Crowley pressed a soft, tender kiss to the side of his neck. “I know all the little games you play, angel,” he whispered. “The little lies you tell yourself to still feel proper. And I’m going to smash every one of them when I get you squirming on my cock.”

Aziraphale’s eyes fell shut and he shook his head. “Brute,” he whispered.

“You love it.” Crowley nibbled at delicate skin. “Giving me those eyes and shoving your arse out like a ruddy cat looking to breed. Nothing angelic about you right now, is there?” 

Aziraphale whined again, helplessly aroused by the silky way Crowley whispered those filthy words to him. “Oh Crowley,” he breathed, “please, my dear.”

Crowley chuckled and raised a hand to snap his fingers; immediately Aziraphale was positively _dripping_ between his legs. “There we are.”

“ _Oh,_ ” Aziraphale moaned faintly. “That’s filthy, dear.”

“Yes, it is.” Crowley’s voice was low and dark, full of wicked promise. “But not as filthy as you’re going to be after I spill inside you.” 

Aziraphale shuddered, shifting his feet apart. “You beast,” he groaned. “Horrible fiend.”

“You say the sweetest things, angel.” Crowley reached back, presumably to shimmy his pyjama bottoms down. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy your luscious arse.”

“ _Crowley,_ ” whispered Aziraphale shakily, gripping the counter in desperation as Crowley lined himself up. The demon’s skin felt hot against his own; Crowley’s cock was a brand, searing his sensitive hole before he pushed in. 

They both moaned then. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s waist with a hissing curse as he sank in all the way. It took a moment for the two of them to recover; Crowley tucked his face into Aziraphale’s hair, and Aziraphale panted, hanging his head.

After a few moments where the only sound was their ragged breath, Crowley squeezed Aziraphale. “Your thighs are shaking,” he whispered unsteadily.

Aziraphale let out a choked noise. “It feels so good,” he gasped. 

Crowley kissed the nape of his neck then, the gesture so soft that Aziraphale’s chest ached with love. “Need a minute?” he asked.

“No.” Aziraphale took a slow breath. “Go ahead.”

Crowley snapped his hips, sending pleasure shooting up the base of Aziraphale’s spine. Oh, he loved being fucked in the arse. There was nothing quite like it. And Crowley did it so well, too, with his sinuous movements and wicked words. Oh, how Aziraphale loved him.

“Dearest,” he panted, shoving back into Crowley’s thrusts, “oh, you dear thing. It’s so good.”

“Yeah?” Crowley sounded breathless. “You like that, do you? Greedy little hedonist, of course you do.”

Aziraphale shivered, delighted. “Harder, Crowley. Please?”

“Shit,” Crowley hissed, and sped up until their skin slapped together. The sound made Aziraphale moan brokenly, punctuated by Crowley’s thrusts. Neither of them had ever been able to let go like this with a human partner, and the freedom was absolutely delicious. It made everything so much better, just like the filthy sounds. 

“ _Yes,_ ” Aziraphale cried as Crowley shifted to an even better angle. “Oh, _there,_ Crowley, just like that. Please, darling, don’t stop.”

Crowley cursed again, kissing Aziraphale’s neck. “Like this, angel?” he asked raggedly. “Tell me. You need it like this?”

“Yes, Crowley!” Aziraphale whined, trapped by his own trousers. He wanted to spread his legs wider, feel Crowley slithering between them, grip him with his thighs and hold him just where he wanted him. But oh, this was lovely too, the heat of hellfire at his back, with burning kisses on his neck and Crowley’s breath ghosting across his skin. “Oh, you’re wonderful, my dear. You feel so good.”

“Want me to touch your greedy cock?” Crowley always knew just what to say to drive Aziraphale completely mad. “Or are you going to come just from something in your tight little arse?”

“Dirty,” Aziraphale panted, rocking his hips shamelessly. “Your mouth ought to be a sin.”

“It is, Aziraphale, haven’t you heard?” Crowley was grinning; Aziraphale could hear it in his voice. “I’ve used it to make a whore out of an angel, after all.”

“ _Oh!_ ” Aziraphale was nearly there; Crowley had that effect on him. “Oh, don’t call me that, Crowley. You mustn’t.”

“Whore,” Crowley murmured tenderly, pressing a kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek. “You’re a degenerate little slut. No good angel would spread their legs for a filthy demon like me.”

Aziraphale shuddered, biting his lip as he felt himself start to tip over. “Oh—! _Crowley!_ ”

“That’s it, angel,” Crowley hissed. “Come on!”

And Aziraphale was coming, wailing with pleasure as Crowley tensed behind him. He caught himself just before he clenched his hands and cracked Crowley’s beautiful countertops, and shuddered when he felt Crowley moan and come behind him.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. “That was lovely,” he said into the silence of the kitchen.

“Mmph,” Crowley agreed from where he was mouthing at Aziraphale’s neck. It tickled. 

Aziraphale leaned back, letting Crowley take his weight. The demon wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s middle and held him, hooking his chin over Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Almost makes me want to have our picnic in bed,” Crowley mused. “What do you say, angel? No insects, soft sheets....no one to care if we laze about naked.”

Aziraphale smiled, biting his lip. “I suppose it would be a better example to the humans,” he said thoughtfully.

“That’s right.” Crowley seized on the point. “Can’t break the rules when we’re supposed to be staying home, can we?”

“But I packed the basket so nicely,” murmured Aziraphale.

Crowley nuzzled his curls. “We can spread your awful little tartan blanket on the floor.”

“What about in your greenhouse?” Aziraphale suggested. “It’d be nearly like being outside, with all your lovely plants about.”

Crowley recoiled. “We can’t get naked in front of the plants!” he said, scandalized.

Aziraphale turned to stare at him.

Crowley looked revolted. “Absolutely not, angel.”

Aziraphale considered. “What if we got dressed for dessert?” he finally offered.

Crowley eyed him. “Fine,” he said after a bit. “But no public displays of affection.”

“Because of the plants,” Aziraphale said.

“Because of the plants.” Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale laughed at him.

“Shut up! I’ve got a reputation to uphold!” said Crowley, but he was giving Aziraphale that softly fond look he sometimes did.

“Of course, dear.” Aziraphale kissed him. “Very well, then. An indoor picnic.”

Crowley brightened. “I’ll get the wine out of the fridge, then, shall I?”

“Excellent.” Aziraphale stepped away, wiggling his trousers the rest of the way off with the aid of a quick miracle for his shoes. The way Crowley’s eyes watched his arse jiggle was very gratifying. “And on second thought, bring the cake. I know how you like to watch me eat.”

And as Crowley sputtered behind him, he made his way toward the bedroom.


End file.
